Ten thousand stars sparkle in the distance. If a god was to look from above, he would see the stars, accompanied by manmade warships.

Battlefleet Chiyou and Battlefleet Isolde shared a new base in the Florelian Starzone. It was located very close to the border. The two battlefleets number more than 50,000 warships in total. Together, they represent one of the Republic’s most potent frontline defence.

As vice commander of Battlefleet Chiyou and its chief of staff, Abbas al-Salem found himself assailed by two separate things; one was the weight of his office. The other one ....

His diary, which was otherwise filled with fairly mundane things, had this particular entry:

“I find myself charmed by the fiery grace of Yue. But it’s hard to put my feelings to words.”

His romantic inclinations would unfortunately have to wait. From the starships of the Armada, news came from nearby worlds through the internet connection. A series of worrying news emerged:

“Whitmore Coalition alleges voting fraud.”

“Activists under the banner of the Flare League protests a series of laws lowering minimum age requirements for governorship; opening up opportunity for Governor Rucat’s son to succeed him. Water cannons used by police. Nine dead, three hundred missing.”

“Governor Rucat denies allegations of his interference in Planet Florelian’s constitutional court.”

“Tear gas use by police condemned by the Universal Human Rights Associations (UHRA).”

Elections had happened some time ago, but soldiers weren’t allowed to vote; this was to ensure the neutrality of the armed forces. In a way, Abbas and Yue officially had no dog in the race.

Abbas squirmed uncomfortably at the news. Everywhere, unrest was rising. Some he thought was reasonable, some inter-party conflicts. “Don’t worry,” Yue said as the two of them watched television and demolishing the snacks of Quetzalcoatl’s officer lounge. “This has always happened every time there’s an election, has there not?”

“Not in 2498.”

The Crisis of May, 2498 was the most catastrophic political event in the history of the Republic. A fatal combination of economic disasters, political power-play, and opportunism led to a schism within Republic, complete with massacres of several worlds. Several fleets rebelled, and a number of worlds fell under rebel control. It took two months of chaos for things to calm down.

Abbas took a look around. The lounge was empty except for him and Yue. The atmosphere was comfortable and cozy; only slightly spoiled by the portrait of an old, wrinkly man. “That is Marshal Yi. My mentor,” Admiral Tang once said.

“There is no Marshal Yi,” Abbas replied, after a few minutes of internet browsing. What existed was Admiral Yi, famous for holding off 133,000 Imperial warships with only a single fleet in the Battle of Miong Starzone. After that, he slipped into obscurity. His age now would be around late nineties.

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“Government bastards took it away from him. If anyone deserves to be marshal, it’s him.”

Something in that old man’s face reminded Abbas of a certain someone who thrashed him and Yue in SBS. He shook off the feeling.

“So,” Yue said, breaking the quiet, “how do you like it as chief-of-staff?”

“It’s a lot of work,” Abbas replied, half-complaining. “Listening to Admiral Tang’s rants is half of the hard work.” He smiled pleasantly.

“Heh. Agreed,” Yue said. “Don’t waste this opportunity, Abbas. Admiral Tang doesn’t just take anyone under her wing.”

“I know,” Abbas nodded. He drunk his tea and refilled it while Yue looked pensively unto the television.

“SBS?” Abbas offered.

“Sure.”

Neither Yue nor Abbas paid too much attention to the game, but it seemed to help them divert their mind from the unease.

“How many friends do you have, Abbas?” Yue asked as she played.

“Not many,” Abbas admitted. “Just the ones from the orphanage.”

“You and I are a kindred soul,” Yue claimed, legs crossed. The game had ended in a draw. “I never had much time for friends either. My birth parents gave me a nice inheritance; a debt of some hundreds of millions of dinars. Whelps. I suppose it helped me find the fleet as my career. Paid it off five years ago and now ... I don’t really know where to go.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m now commander of a fleet. Can’t really go much further than that. Battlefleet action is where my heart is. I can’t stand sitting in an office stamping documents.”

“Why not enjoy it?” Abbas suggested.

“Enjoy it?”

“Yeah. You’ve gotten what you want. There’s no need to set new goalposts, is there? Why not sit back and relax?”

“That’s a new perspective to me,” Yue said. “For all my life I’ve always been trying to get to the top ... and now I’m at the top. Or close to it, I suppose.”

For a moment there was a strange silence, except for the music that accompanied SBS. Abbas and Yue looked at one another, neither able to find another topic. An unexplainable expression colored their face—affection and hesitation blurring into one. “Yue,” Abbas said after much deliberation. “Do you have a partner?”

Yue smiled. “No.”

Neither knew exactly who lunged first, but a few seconds later, Abbas and Yue were kissing each other. Their hands, fair yet hardened by war, are thrown behind each other’s backs. It was a strange romance. Nosy historians would describe it as “not so much a romance, but a close companionship, brought to its logical conclusion”.

Uncountable light-years away from Abbas and Yue’s budding romance, stood the Republic’s Capital.

It boasted itself proudly as the bastion of democratic governance. A large, beautiful planet, lush with forests, housing ten billion people. Not once has it ever tasted the horrors of war. It was protected by two forces: one was a ‘flying fortress’; Starfort A, a mobile fortress capable of laying waste to multiple fleets, armed with anti-fighter guns, numerous defensive cannons, and a main cannon. This fortress was directly controlled by Admiral Black, a steadfast enemy of Admiral Tang’s faction, and father of Abbas’ aide.

The second force was Battlefleet Aegis, commanded by Admiral Mahmoud. Outside of Battlefleet Chiyou, it was the single, most powerful fleet in the Armada. It comprised of 30,000 vessels, almost all of them of the newest design. It was well-supplied and well-equipped, its soldiers a mix of talented newbies and hardened veterans. Its commander, Admiral Mahmoud, boasted a long and marvellous career.

Having served the Armada for more than 30 years, the veteran admiral had fought the Imperial forces at numerous battles. He had kept clear of political intrigues and factional struggles, and was looking forward to a fairly peaceful retirement within a decade or so.

Or so he thought. One day, under the pretense of the anniversary of Battlefleet Aegis’ founding, Admiral Black of Battlefleet Ouroboros, invited Admiral Mahmoud to a private meeting.

Two weeks later, Admiral Mahmoud was yet to be seen.

The biggest crisis in the Republic’s history was about to begin.